The first time she kills is an accident. A well-meaning jogger tries to wake her up (Nashville’s Centennial Park is no place for a sixteen-year old girl after dark) and winds up headlining the morning news. His family cries out for justice. They don’t know the killer stays huddled under a nearby overpass for the better part of a week – battling the deceased for control of her mind. She wins – barely – and runs north. Not quite sure where she’s headed. Not quite sure that she cares.
The second time she kills is self-defense. She’s found herself pressed up against a back alley, being mauled by a man twice her size. His pants are off and he’s rubbing himself against her so obscenely that she vomits. For that, he breaks her nose. She starts crying. Not because she’s afraid to die. But because she knows she won’t. He removes her overcoat, grabs her naked arms, and the effect is immediate.
His mind pours into her own – every lecherous thought, every victim he’s had before her – and she prays for mercy. Prays that God will grant her death’s sweet embrace. She has no delusions of where she’ll go. But even Hell would be a reprieve.
Trapped under the weight of her attacker, death eventually comes, but not for her. And now all she has left is madness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Marie’s eyes blink open and her jaw drops of its own accord. Perhaps she made it to heaven after all. Her mind is blissfully silent. The room around her is lavish and decorated entirely in white and silver. And the woman that stands above her is an angel – if angels could dress like whores.
The angel smiles down at her. “Ah, Ms. D’Ancanto. Right on schedule.”
Marie sits up in the queen sized bed and pulls the down-feather comforter tight across her naked chest. “Where am I? And why am I naked?”
“Snow Valley, Massachusetts. And you’re naked because I was not about to have your filthy clothes soiling my satin sheets.”
“And you are?”
The angel (though Marie is quickly rethinking this epithet) inclines her head. “My name is Emma Frost. And you owe me a great debt.”
At this Marie tenses and opens her mouth in retort. But the aptly named Ms. Frost does not give her time to speak “I’ve created a system in your mind to automatically catalog the extraneous psyches. Allowing you to sift through their knowledge and memories without being forced to listen to their babblings. In effect, I’ve just restored your sanity.”
Marie nods, recognizing the truth in her statement. And to keep this gift, she is willing to sacrifice anything. “What do you want?”
Emma sits next to her on the bed. Reflexively, Marie flinches back, but Emma either doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care. “I simply want you to do what nature intended you to – survive.”
She looks at Emma in confusion. “Why do I think we have two very different definitions of that word?”
Her laugh sounds like a choir of ringing bells and for a moment, Marie is enthralled by the sound. “Indeed. Perhaps you would do better with a simple illustration.”
And suddenly her mind is linked with Emma’s and she can see her plans. Plans to eliminate those who stand against mutant progress. Plans for Marie to bring her back information that could further the mutant cause. No, not just the mutant cause. Her cause. That of the Hellfire Club.
“You want me kill your enemies.”
Emma’s gaze seems to penetrate into her very soul. “Our enemies, Marie. They would see you destroyed just as surely as they would me.”
Marie considers her words. She knows what they mean – knows what agreeing to this will make her.
I should just kill her.
The thought runs unbidden through her mind. And is quickly perceived by Emma, who spreads her arms open as if in invitation. “You could try.”
But that really isn’t want either of them wants. Emma has given her back everything she thought lost forever and that demands payment of the highest order. Besides, the sacrifice is not so great. Now that the task cannot drive her mad, Marie finds she has no aversion to killing those who’d see her harmed. Those like the man in the alley, whose mutant-hating thoughts had driven her past the brink of insanity.
Marie comes to her decision very quickly. She looks up at Emma, her eyes affirming the commitment of her words. “I owe you my life.”
Emma shakes her head. “Its not your life I want. Its theirs.”
Marie shrugs. “Fine then.”
“You’ll be compensated for your work, of course. And trained. A sloppy assassin is of little use.”
Assassin. Marie finds she doesn’t completely abhor the title.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Seven months later, Emma says she’s ready for an official introduction to the Hellfire Club. It’s a standard high-society soiree and Marie is feeling a little more than out of her element. The past several months have prepared her for a plethora of situations – from constructing homemade bombs to properly executing the Argentine Tango – but all the training in the world could not overcome her natural aversion to crowds.
Tugging self-consciously at the revealing gown she wears, Marie spares another wary glance at the mutation inhibitor bracelet on her wrist. Emma’s latest gift – though she has become very suspicious of the icy blonde’s generosity. First the posh wardrobe, then the Audi S8, followed shortly thereafter by the American Express Centurion (at which point Marie’s eyes threatened to pop from her head), and now this. Emma claims they are all to assist her in whatever assignments she is given, but Marie thinks they are more like bribes. Unnecessary bribes at that – since Marie’s strange sense of honor would not allow her to back away from a debt owed, no matter the cost.
All too soon, midnight has arrived and Emma is beckoning her to the stage. Emerging from the shadows, Marie confidently glides forward, determined that her anxiety will remain a secret from the hundreds of inquisitive eyes that follow her. She waits patiently at the bottom of the dais as Emma and a dark featured man (whom she quickly learns is Sebastian Shaw) raise a toast to the guest of honor and newest inductee. As Emma is about to announce her, Marie sends a last minute telepathic request.
Don’t give them my name, she begs.
How would you like to be introduced? Emma doesn’t bother to ask why. The why is irrelevant – and the secrecy could be used to their advantage.
I don’t care. Just not as Marie.
It goes unsaid (mentally, of course) that Marie no longer exists. She can’t in this world. The woman she has become (never mind her mere seventeen years – she appears so much older in every way possible) is vastly different from the girl she was when Emma first rescued her.
Emma Frost continues the toast, her lack of pause leaving the audience none the wiser. “Without further ado, may I present the newest member of the Hellfire Club: Rogue.”
She rolls her eyes as Emma shoots her a hooded grin, but takes the stage nonetheless. Glancing out at the applauding crowd, she wonders if any of them will ever find their way on her hit list. Sebastian continues to blather on, but she pays no attention. Her focus is on her given moniker.
Rogue. A deviant. A renegade. An unpredictable and savage animal.
She could think of nothing more fitting.
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Story Notes:
AU, but bits and pieces will be taken from the comics, the movies, and maybe even the cartoons. Also, though the title is the same as one of Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake books, the stories bear no resemblance whatsoever.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Not to fear - Wolverine makes his appearance in the next chapter.
Chapter End Notes:
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